


Collide

by LadyLan



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Kimi no Na wa. | Your Name., Your Name AU, body swapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-02-27 14:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13250127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLan/pseuds/LadyLan
Summary: He doesn't know why or how, but ever so often he wakes up on a strange planet in the body of a blue haired woman. If that wasn't bad enough, while he's there she's taking his place, royally screwing up his life. He's going to find her, one day, and when he does, she's going to pay.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> I typed this up in my local writing group when the theme was "travel" and I couldn't think of anything but the film Your Name/Kimi no na wa. This was originally supposed to be a one shot but… That would've been crazy so I've broken it up a bit.
> 
> I should also probably be apologizing for what I'm doing to both of these beautiful, beautiful animes. There's some spoiler-y moment if you haven't seen the movie, which I highly recommend watching if you haven't yet, but the story is definitely more "inspired by" than a follow-along so there's no need to be familiar with the film.

He awoke with the sort of haze of a good night's rest that was expected of small children, not elite soldiers in the universally feared Planet Trade Organization. The edges of his focus blurred and the color purple was the first thing his senses registered. The second wasn't noticed until he inhaled.

Everything smelled like a sweet, foreign flower.

He frowned and tossed the purple blanket to the floor and blinked until his vision cleared. He was sitting on a bed in the corner of a room. A room that was not his; a room he'd never visited before. It was cluttered and messy and feminine.

He jostled and felt the stretch of strange, unfamiliar muscles.

Which was far more disconcerting than waking up in a new setting. And when his eyes darted down, a pair of round, creamy breasts stared up at him from the low v-cut of a pink shirt. He jostled again and collided with the floor.

When he stumbled to standing it was on a pair of naked legs. Weak legs. With bare feet he padded across the floor to the vanity and stared into a pair of wide, strange eyes where his own should have been.

This was, hands down, the weirdest fucking dream he'd ever had.

Ever.

And when he threw open the door to the strange bedroom and started down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, he ran straight past a couple that didn't even looked phased by his being there, half-naked and ragey.

The sun was bright. He squinted and raised his palm, trying to gather enough energy to destroy this entire fucking planet, only… Only, he was helpless to.

So he stood there, panting in the sunlight, willing himself to wake up.

He doesn't wake, and the longer he stood there the less it felt like a dream.

Vegeta glanced down again, facing the cleavage and smooth skin and frowns. What in the fucking hell fire was happening?! He looked up, squinting to find only one sun blazing from the heavens, and he cursed whatever deity had done this to him.

"Bulma?" A voice called from his left, and he turned, slowly, wondering what tongue they spoke here. Staring at him with some degree of familiarity was a tall man with wild black hair. A pair of scars marred either side of his face while his eyes shone with what Vegeta could only discern as concern.

"Bulma? Bulma, baby, are you… Are you feeling alright?"

Vegeta panted. No he wasn't fucking _alright_.

"Bulma. You're scaring the shit out of me, babe. Are you… What are you doing?"

A strange voice-high and feminine-ripped from his throat and he snapped,

"I'm trying to blast this place to the next fucking dimension. Now leave me."

The strange man blinked. He put his hands on Vegeta's shoulder and Vegeta maneuvered him into a choke hold.

"Fucking hell, Bulma!" The man stared up at him with wide eyes, full of equal parts fear and surprise. "What's wrong with you?!"

It's then that Vegeta balks. He should have the strength to snap this stranger's neck with the barest hint of pressure, but he can't manage it because this body he's inhabiting is weak and frail and what the HELL is doing here, anyway?!

From the chokehold, the stranger rasped, "Are you possessed?!"

Maybe. Maybe that's what this was.

Then, managing to squeeze a bit of hope in his tone, the man in Vegeta's chokehold called out to the sky, "Goku!"

Vegeta turned. He couldn't see anyone, but after a few moments a figure emerged from the sky, flying closer and closer as a shape formed into something recognizable as a person. A male. A tall and fairly strong looking male. The closer he got the more detail Vegeta was able to spot with this garbage vision he'd acquired. The newcomer's hair sticks out in a most familiar manner...

"Bardock?" Vegeta asked, but hears the name in the strange voice of a female.

It isn't Bardock though. The face is too young. The dark eyes of the stranger focused on him under knitted brows.

And then Not-Bardock reached forward as though to smack him, and though Vegeta attempted to dodge the blow, because it should've been simple enough if this body wasn't weak and useless, he's slow and barely managed to move a fraction of an inch in time.

There's a crack and then he saw stars.

And then nothing at all.

…...

Bulma Briefs had been having the strangest dream. She woke and rubbed her head. She'd dreamt of a tiny, sterile room with a small bed. No color, no decor. Just a single wardrobe filled with foreign armor and lycra bodysuits.

She'd picked up a pair, stretched it, felt the durability and strength it possessed.

And there she'd been, standing there dreaming about alien armor until she woke up, laying face-up on the Capsule Corp. lawn with a splitting headache and Goku and Yamcha frowning down at her.

Yamcha looked terrified as he asked, "Is she normal again?"

Her blood boiled. _Normal_ again?! What the hell was that supposed to mean?!

Goku exhaled. "Yeah. Think she's good now. Her energy's back to how it usually is, at least." Then he flashed her a goofy grin. She placed a hand on her aching brow. "Bulma, how're you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." She applied a touch of pressure to where the pain was radiating and winced. "Did you hit me, Yamcha?!"

"What?! No!" he exclaimed. "Goku did."

She shot him a glare and Goku laughed nervously. "Sorry Bulma. I felt your energy one second and then… Then you were different. So I rushed over and didn't really think it through."

"You attacked me?!"

"I told you." Goku shrugged. "I wasn't really thinking."

Her glare hardened on Yamcha and he subconsciously shrunk away.

"And you," her voice rose with a trill of anger. "You didn't stop him?!"

All Yamcha had to offer was a weak smile. "Goku's really fast, and you were scaring the shit out of me."

…..

A part of his brain knew whatever the fuck had just happened had been more than a dream, but the logical part of him also rationalized that it hadn't been real. Whatever in the seven hells it was, he didn't want to dwell on it, so Vegeta slammed the wardrobe closed and shook his head.

Outside his room, Raditz and Nappa stood chatting about nothing he cared to hear about. He did, however, catch himself staring at Raditz for a moment. In his not-dream, not-reality (where he had tits and no power, so again he didn't want to dwell on _that_ particular fall of circumstance) he'd thought for a moment he'd come face to face with Raditz's dead father. Only, it hadn't been Bardock. Maybe Bardock's youngest son. Vegeta clenched his jaw, trying to remember what Raditz's brothers name had been, but he couldn't recall.

"Uh, Prince Vegeta," Raditz said. He blinked. He'd done nothing to warrant the Prince's wrath but there the shorter man stood, glaring at him. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Vegeta shook his head. Whatever it had been, he didn't need to dwell on it. "S'fine."

…..

She's been here before. Once, in a dream.

She lifted her hand to rub the sleep from her eyes, but froze. And stared.

And stared.

And stared at the thick, tan forearm. She twisted the strange arm before her eyes, marveling at the limb. She flexed her wrist and felt her bicep bulge. Grinning, she did it again, and poked the muscle for good measure.

Then she crossed the room and hesitated before a door. There was no handle, but a small blue pad sat to one side. She pressed her palm against the gridded screen and the door slid open, revealing a small bathroom with strange, futuristic apparatuses. Part of her wanted to explore all the foreign bathroom doodads her brilliant brain had thought up, but first she grinned at the reflection in the mirror. Without a second thought, Bulma reached for the hem of the white sleep shirt and tossed it to the floor.

"Heck yes!" she exclaimed, the voice tearing from her throat deep and masculine.

She pressed a fingertip against one of the abdominals, feeling the tough, springy skin and the musculature that lay there.

"...four, five aaaand six." She grinned, winking at the reflection in the mirror. The man who stared back at her had a low widows peak and dark hair that upswept from the crown of her head. She moved a hand to feel the texture of the locks and blinked.

This certainly didn't feel like a dream. She racked her brain, trying to remember what experiment her father was in the middle of and whether or not it involved any hallucinogenic gases. A couple years ago she'd thought she was purple-haired pop star for nearly 15 minutes, but it had just been a leak of pshychlotian in her father's lab.

She grinned, revealing sharp, white teeth. She blinked the set of dark eyes that seemed to frown back at her beneath slanted brows. A fairly typical bad boy of her fantasies, maybe, but it was far more realistic than ever before.

And then she squirmed.

"Shit," she whispered. The deep voice echoed around the stark bathroom. "I have to pee…"

Her eyes lowered to the loose sleeping pants and she felt her cheeks flush. She didn't particularly feel like dealing with that just yet, so she left the bathroom and entered the sparse sleeping chamber. Frowning, she spotted a second door and inhaled.

"Fine." She gave a steely nod. "Let's do this."

The second she opened the door, she was confronted with two impossibly huge men.

"Holy beefcakes," she exclaimed, moving her gaze from one burly man to the other. Their attire would've been matching if the one with hair would've bothered with pants. Instead, his bulging thighs were on full display. This hallucination might've been strange, but Bulma had no doubt it was her brain that had cooked it up.

She grinned.

"Uh," the bald one started, flashing her a look of concern. "Are you okay, sire?"

Sire. Bulma blinked. Sire?! Was she like… their boss or something?

"I think so?" she replied, the deep voice lifting in question. Was she? She doubted it. Two men that looked like crocodiles wearing clothes waltzed down the hallway and she pressed herself to the wall with a shriek.

The man with hair scratched the back of his head. "You sure? You're not wearing your amour or scouter and you're acting kind of…" he hesitated, as though she might punch him in the throat for saying it, but finished with, "...strange."

"Oh." Bulma peeled herself off the smooth, stainless wall and glanced down at the naked chest, grey sweatpants and bare feet. "Do I have to wear armor?"

"No!" the bald man exclaimed. "You don't have to do anything, sire!"

Bulma frowned. "Uh. Give me a second."

And then she ducked back into the room, opened the wardrobe and dressed in a blue lycra suit and some of the strange, flexible armor. She tugged on a pair of white boots and debated about whether or not she should bother with gloves. Who the heck owned this many pairs of identical gloves?

There was also a piece of equipment she didn't recognize. It looked as though it clipped over an eye, but she didn't feel like wearing eyewear so she decided against it.

When she glanced at the reflection in the mirror, she shook her head. She wasn't sure what was going on, but surely she'd wake up soon.

Once back in the hallway, the two men were all business.

No-pants said with a flash of excitement, "You're late to your meeting with Crive. He completely fucked the mission to Zanzli, and Frieza's left you to deal with his punishment."

The big, bald one flashed his teeth and Bulma's stomach sunk with dread. She didn't want to punish anyone, and had no clue what the heck Crive or Zanzli or a Frieza was. Plus, she was now squirming with the urgency to pee and she didn't feel entirely comfortable dealing with that either.

But she nodded, tried to look cool and collected, and followed the pair down the strange, winding hallways. She soaked in the sights along the way, the sound of her boots filling the sterile hallway with echoing thuds. All the sleek touchpads at the doorways, all the species of men and women with places to go, their hair vibrant and shapes unique. Earth had variety, sure, but she was 90% sure she wasn't on Earth.

This was confirmed when they passed a circular window and she nearly tripped over whoever's feet she'd shoved into boot earlier that day. The window overlooked the blackness of space stretching infinitely in every direction. White stars speckled the dark and the occasional nebula painted the sky with soft hues of violet and pink and crimson.

She'd never stood so close to a cloud of ionized gas. And even though this was a dream or a hallucination or… something, it felt real.

"Prince Vegeta," the bald man said. He shot her a worried look and she tried to return it with a comforting smile. This just made him look even more worried and she sighed.

"This way," the bald man continued, and Bulma worried her lip the remainder of the jaunt. At least she knew her name in this strange place. Vegeta. And her title. She nearly swooned-a prince!

Though a logical part of her brain registered that this was no palace and no way for a prince to live. She faltered as the pair of men-the prince's bodyguard, perhaps?-led her into a room where a man sat quivering in a squat, grey chair.

"Uh. Hi," she greeted. All three occupants of the room looked at her like she had three heads, and she wondered if there was something wrong with her voice. Maybe it should be… gruffer? Meaner? It sounded deep and masculine, and whoever she was dreaming about was obviously, well, someone tough and important if he was dolling out punishments in his spare time.

So she cleared her throat and tried to inject a bit of confidence in her tone as she repeated, "Hi."

The man in the chair shivered. A shock of orange hair fell over one of his eyes. His unobstructed eye met hers and shone with fear. Bulma felt queasy.

"I hear you weren't, ah…" What had No-pants said? 'Rightfully fucked'? She settled with, "...successful."

"Yes, sir. I'm so sorry. The ship got caught up with Treviers. We lost seven of our men after landing and couldn't complete the mission as quickly or without casualty after the loss of so many good and loyal soldiers." The man's tone was pleading. He quickly added, "Sir!"

Bulma felt her heart sink in her chest. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry."

"...Sorry?" one of the men behind her asked. The bald one or the one with no pants, she couldn't tell, but she realized they were probably mocking her.

And since she didn't give two fucks, she shrugged. "Well, they lost lots of men. Can't be helped."

The man in the chair was still shivering, like this was all an act. Like he expected Bulma to lash out and kill him at any moment. Whoever this Prince Vegeta was, she was not a fan.

"And my punishment, sir?"

"Oh. Ah. Did you apologize to whoever you let down?"

He blinked. "I brought shame to your unit, sir."

"Oh." Bulma nodded slowly. "Okay, then. Apologize."

"I-I… I'm sorry, sire."

"And do you promise to try harder next time?"

Everyone was backing away from her, and she chewed on her lip, wondering how else she's supposed to handle this. Her parents had never scolded her and she'd never been to any formal schooling with tutors or teachers, so proper discipline was lost on her.

"Uh. Y-Yes, sir. I will be successful next time. I swear it."

Bulma grinned and clapped her hands together. "Good! Then that's that."

The orange haired soldier scrambled from the room before she could change her mind, and Bulma watched him go with an innocently timed blink.

Baldy and No-Pants stared openly at her.

"Uh. Are you sure you're feeling all right, sire?"

Bulma frowned. Was she?

"No." She squirmed and whined, "I have to pee."

After she took care of… that, she followed Baldy and No-Pants to the training rooms. She should probably ask their names, but decided against it. They were already looking ready to medicate her, and really, she just wanted to go home.

The training rooms were airy and open. The walls the same cold metal as the rest of the ship, but there was a certain energy of excitement, a buzz that tickled her skin there that she hadn't found in the hustle of the hallways.

She lined up to spar and felt unsure of herself. Training rooms weren't her specialty, but she was more comfortable with them than the average earthling. She'd spent a good deal of time on Roshi's island and had watched her friends spar. She knew the basics. The poses. The-

SMACK.

"Ow!" she cried out. She tried to open her eyes but the pain was too much. It wasn't until she moved into a sitting position that she realized she'd been laid out on the floor.

No-pants was staring openly at her, fear in his eyes.

"V-Vegeta, sire, I'm sorry."

Baldy snickered at No-pants. "Are you going to promise not to make the same mistake again?"

"I… I must be feeling off," Bulma managed through a throbbing lip. Tears pricked her, or whoever's body this was, eyes. What the fuck was happening? This pain was far too real for either a dream or a hallucination. There was another explanation. There had to be...

"You… You didn't defend yourself," No-pants was sputtering, looking entirely too guilty for a man who stood over a foot taller than her.

When the pain began to subside, Bulma felt something else entirely. It was a gut-wrenching emptiness she'd never experienced before. Like something was clawing at her insides. She registered the discomfort at the same time she voiced, "Hungry."

And without a second word she was led to the cafeteria and… Holy shit!

Her eyes shone, her mouth hung agape. She praised whatever kai had sent here there, because this was heaven.

At the end of the buffet, a large, rectangular table hosted a spread of treats. Rows of tarts in black shells with creamy red meringue. Hexagonal puff pastries dusted with blue powder. Little square spit cakes with smooth taupe icing. Exotic fruits Bulma couldn't name each garnished in pink syrup.

Baldy heaved a sigh of relief. "You were hungry. That's why you were so off. Did you eat at all yesterday?"

"I can just take all I want?" she asked, eyes bright and wide.

And it was unlike any dream or hallucination she'd ever had. She piled a plate with desserts, sampling everything. Baldy and No-Pants followed her to a table, and once seated Baldy asked,

"Are you sure you don't want anything more substantial, sire?"

"Nope," Bulma replied, popping one of the tarts in her mouth. It reminded her of a dark cocoa. The puff pastry was flakey and the blue powder a fruity confectioners' sugar. Everything was delicious. The icing spread across her tongue, the delicate layers of cake melted in her mouth.

And in her dream, she was never satiated.

She was a bottomless pit and could eat and eat and eat to her heart's content and never get full. And since it's a dream or a hallucination, and it's definitely not her body, she doesn't have to worry about getting fat.

The two men across the table stared openly. Spongy breads and gelatinous porridge sat untouched on their plates. A slab of meat hung from Baldy's fork, but he couldn't bring himself to eat with the image of Prince Vegeta fawning over gerbba berries.

"Uh. Sire. Are you… Are you going to eat any protein?"

"No." She grins, blushing, inhaling some more of the red, ripe fruits that remind her of strawberries. She dips one in a thick, white cream that's richer than vanilla but not quite as sweet. Yes. Whatever this place is, it's heaven.

And after she'd had her fill, Bulma rubbed the slab of rock-hard abs she'd somehow acquired and sighed. Baldy and No-pants led her back to the training facilities, but she was too full to move and she really didn't want to get sucker-punched again. So, in a voice she hoped is a demanding, she cracked,

"You two spar. I'm going to watch."

And she spent the day watching buff men in tight-fitting clothes beat the shit out of one another. Not entirely sure why she didn't imagine some of the men to be a touch more attractive, Bulma rested her head against the wall and exhaled.

Yeah, peeing was a horrid thing and she's not quite sure why she's still dreaming, but later that night when she laid back and sighed happily in the too-stiff bed, she drifted off in a peaceful slumber with a belly full of sweets and fresh bruise on someone else's face.

And when she'd woken up, her soft purple down comforter is rolled into a ball at her feet, blinking sleep from her eyes, she yawned. Only to find both her mother and Goku frowning down at her.

"Honey, are you…?" her mother asked, wringing her hands at her side.

"Yep!" Goku replied. "She's Bulma again."

"Was I not me?"

Her mother sighed. "You came down in your pajamas, your hair a mess, and you didn't remember anything about the prototype you were presenting to your father, and you called Yamcha some really horrible things, and… Oh, sweetie, what's happening to you?"

Bulma ran a hand over the soft material of her bed sheets, trying to recount the memories from the day before but she had no tidy, scientific explanation. But this might've been outside of the realm of science. Perhaps she should visit with Kami, maybe he'd have an explanation at the ready.

Satisfied that she wasn't possessed, her mother and Goku left. Bulma took a seat at her desk chair. If she hadn't presented the prototype to her dad yesterday, then the plans should still be…

She froze.

There was a notebook open on her workspace and written in a small, compact handwriting that looked nothing like her own was three words:

Who are you?

And four days later, when she woke up and it's the strange, unfamiliar world of a floating fortress in space, she wondered if this wasn't a dream after all.

Bulma bit her lips together. If she was here, what if this strong, strange man from who knows what universe isn't here. Maybe he's on Earth, in her body, threatening her family and making shit more complicated than it already was with Yamcha.

Bulma rummaged through the drawers of his sparse furniture until she found a leather-bound notebook. She flipped past the first three pages filled with the same, cramped writing as before, opened up a new page and wrote:

I'm Bulma. What the hell are you doing in my body?!

And then she peed and dressed and went into the hallway, not surprised to find the two familiar burly men waiting for her, looking at her like she was supposed to tell them what to do. Bulma smiled sheepishly and they both sprung to attention.

"No sparring," she commanded, and the voice was deep but probably not as gruff as it ought to be. "Let's eat."

…...

He leaped up and, thankfully, he was back in his room and not the stupid, fucking wasteland that woman's from.

On his desk he found a note written in loopy, feminine handwriting. He frowned at it. It's in a notebook intended for documenting his crews' ships statuses when they return to the PTO station.

"Bulma," he growled, reading the word aloud. He is quite familiar with it because yesterday it'd been what everyone had called him.

He dressed and clipped his scouter over his eye. He smacked the keypad with his palm and waited impatiently as the door slid open. When Raditz met his eyes Vegeta glowered, and the taller man exhaled.

"Aw, man. You seem more yourself today."

"Was I not myself yesterday?" he snapped, already knowing the answer.

"Nope," Raditz replied, a dopey smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yesterday you were kinda… cute."

A vein on Vegeta's temple throbbed and he fought the urge to slam his fist into the nearest wall. Fucking Bulma. He didn't know how or why this was happening, but when they finally came face to face he was going to end her for putting him through this.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a million times longer to post than I intended, and I’m so, so sorry for the delay.
> 
> Also, I’m thrilled so many people enjoyed the first chapter, because I’m super aware of how ridiculous this whole thing is. So, thank you, thank you to everyone that reviewed.

She was slowly beginning to realize what was happening.

Bulma sighed from her place on the floor and rubbed her… er, Vegeta’s head.

Vegeta was soldier, living on a ship somewhere in the thicket of space. Every few days, randomly and without warning, she’d swap places with him. The trigger was sleep. The cause, unknown.

She gave a heavy exhale as she dressed. There was a note slapped on the smooth edge of his dresser that read ‘Remember to wear my scouter, idiot.’ Clipping the bulky thing over her eye, she grumbled and finished dressing.

She hated seeing half the world through a red filter. It was already complicated enough, managing this body. She was working on walking better. Manlier. But it was hard, dammit.

Staring back at the handsome reflection, she stuck out her tongue and prayed to Kami that Vegeta was back on Earth not fucking up.

Doubtful.

She exhaled.

She might not have known how this was happening, but it definitely was. There was no doubt they were swapping places. The reactions of everyone around them proved that they were. That’s why she and Vegeta had decided to leave one another notes and set up ground rules to protect each other.

Lists of things to do and, in Vegeta’s case, _not do_ in order to protect one another’s way of life. Somehow, they’d manage to work through whatever was happening. Bulma wasn’t sure how, or when, but if they made it 174 more days, she’d use the Dragon Balls to wish for it to end. Oolong had made a pointless wish just over half a year ago, and she was helpless to wait to summon Shenron while the balls regenerated. Waiting was not her forte, and she gave another growl. It was kind of satisfactory, actually, coming from Vegeta’s deep baritone.

The message on Vegeta’s calendar didn’t clue her into what he had going on that day. Instead, it was an angry (all his notes were, she’d noticed) message telling her to stop spending his credits on sweets.

Bulma rolled her eyes. “They’re going in your body, you ungrateful jerk.”

And, just because she was in such a fantastically bad mood, she skipped on her way into the hallway and flashed the two bulky men, Vegeta’s Saiyan bodyguards, a blinding grin.

Nappa looked like he’d swallowed a turd, but Raditz beamed back at her.

…..

When he awoke, he sprung upright. When he looked down, Bulma’s tits stared back up at him and he growled. And flushed. And walked over to the little white tablet she’d set out and instructed him to communicate with.

‘Woman,’ he began, his fingers nearly shaking. ‘Wear some decent sleeping clothes.’

He caught her reflection in the mirror and glared at it. She was quite gorgeous, if only he gave a damn about things like that. No, all he cared about was strength and she was dreadfully weak.

Grabbing a hair elastic, he secured the blue locks together behind her head. She’d once left him an entirely too long note harping on how if he couldn’t manage to curl or straighten her hair, he had to tie it back.

And he only bothered to comply because they’d established some semblance of ground rules. They had to pretend to be the other as much as possible. They weren’t to ruin one another’s lives until they could figure out how to stop this. Supposedly she was a genius and was working on it. He scowled at the half-empty can of diet soda on her nightstand. She’d written to him, over and over again, that she was smart but all he could decipher was that she was weak and lazy and a slob.

Her little nose wrinkled and he didn’t want to think of the action as cute. No. She wasn’t cute. She was ruining his life.

….

The training facilities were buzzing with action. Shirtless warriors slammed each other into the ground. Reptilian aliens screamed as they powered up. Bulma sighed from her spot against the wall, careful to keep from crossing her legs. She’d gotten a couple of funny looks when she’d done that, and so she’d tucked it away in her mental file of how to not make Vegeta look like a twenty year-old human girl.

She let her gaze drift over the man with bulging thighs straining his lycra shorts. To his left, a woman stood. She was struggling with her long, dark hair, her eyes wide in frustration.

Bulma nearly leapt to her feet at the sight of a woman--the universe was misogynistic place, it seemed, at the majority of PTO soldiers were male. She was so tired of big, stinky men and yearned for some different company, until she remembered that she wasn’t technically a woman. No. She was Vegeta. She exhaled dramatically and continued to watch the woman as she struggled with her hair.

Finally, deciding that she was starved for company and could at the very least assist, Bulma approached the dark haired stranger and offered what she hoped was a kind smile. The woman froze, her eyes purple and wide. Bulma almost squealed. This warrior was super cute.

“Hey, I can help with that.”

The soldier blinked. “You can braid?”

“Of course,” Bulma replied, and tossed in a wink that she immediately regretted. Oh well, she thought with a shrug, it was too late to go back now. “I, uh, sometimes braid knots while out on space… er, missions.” Yeah, space missions. That sounded like something Vegeta did.

“O...kay,” the woman said, and though her hands quit fumbling with the tangle of dark hair, her face remained skeptical.

Bulma reached Vegeta’s gloved hands forward and quickly looped three sections of the stranger’s dark hair into a braid.

“There!” Bulma announced when she was done, and the woman’s hand jumped to the tidy braid with surprise.

“Wow. Thanks. It’s always getting in my face when I spar, but I’m helpless when it comes to managing it. Maybe I should hack it off,” the woman finished with a laugh.

“No!” Bulma exclaimed. “That’d be a crime. Your hair is great.”

Bright red stained the woman’s nose and Bulma could practically feel Vegeta’s ire from the other side of the universe. But she tapped it down. Hanging out with a strong, pretty female warrior was a billion times better than listening to Nappa talk about what breakfast foods did to his bowel movements.

“Thanks, Vegeta.”

“Hey, anytime. I know how it gets, your hair getting in your face when you’re trying to workout. It’s the worst.”

“You do…?” the woman asked, her eyes on the upswept flame. Bulma’s jaw shifted to one side.

“Uh. I mean, I can imagine.”

“Yeah, It really is…” the warrior stopped talking as a tall soldier with a shock of red hair walked by and slapped her rear.

“Stop chatting, sweet cheeks. We need you to get back to work,” the male said, flashing two rows of sharp teeth.

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Asshole,” she muttered. “I can’t believe they treat you like that.”

“Oh,” the female warrior said, blinking her big, purple eyes and shrugging a single shoulder. “It’s not a big deal. Just kind of how things go around here.”

Bulma’s brow furrowed. “It is a big deal. You being female doesn’t give them a free-pass to treat you any differently.”

“Wow.” Big, purple eyes widened in shock. “I didn’t realize you had a soft side, Vegeta.”

Bulma felt a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Did he? Probably not. Did she? Hells yes.

“Look, we should get dessert sometime! Not in Dining Room B, there sweets are seriously lacking, but Room A has the best spread.”

The woman laughed. “Sure thing.”

And when she walked away, dark braid swinging at her back, Bulma fought the urge to laugh out loud. The spot by her side was quickly filled by a hulking Saiyan, and she lifted her chin to meet Raditz’s confused gaze.

“What?” she snapped. That action, at least, seemed very in Vegeta’s character and no one ever seemed to question if she failed to hold back her temper. So they had one thing in common, at least.

Placing a hand behind his neck, Raditz shrugged. He reminded her of someone, Bulma decided, but she couldn’t place who.

“Just impressed. You held an entire conversation with Horta.”

“Horta,” Bulma spoke, Vegeta’s voice testing out the name. It was kind of lacking, honestly. She expected something prettier for the fierce warrior.

“Yeah. It almost looked like you were… flirting. But that’s impossible.”

Bulma tilted her head to one side. “Impossible? Why’s that?”

“Because you don’t know what flirting is, uh… Sir.”

So Vegeta was awkward and inexperienced with women. Bulma nodded. It wasn’t surprising; he didn’t exactly come off as a charmer in his notes to her. “Do you think I like her?”

“What?!” Raditz replied, jumping back a foot or so.

“Do I want to… you know, be with her, you think?”

At this, Raditz chuckled. “Everyone on this damn ship wants to be with her, Your Highness. Even if the pickings weren’t slim, she’s a catch.”

Bulma laughed. Except in Vegeta’s voice it somehow sounded like a cruel chuckle. “Good,” she replied. And when she smiled at Raditz, he took another cautionary step back.

Her guidelines had included strict instructions to stay away from Yamcha while he was in her body, but Vegeta never mentioned anything about girls, so Horta was fair game as far as she was concerned.

…..

The next time they swapped bodies, Bulma exhaled as she crashed to the floor.

“Vegeta, you need a bigger bed,” she grumbled as she got to her feet. There on the table a note was waiting for her.

 _You imbecile_ , it read. _Quit wasting my credits on dessert! I need a balanced diet of protein and carbohydrates to keep up with my workout regimen. And I’m having to double my time in the training facilities thanks to you slacking off._

Bulma rolled her eyes. “I would eat protein if meat wasn’t complete shit on this ship.”

She took her time dressing, pulling the lycra suit over Vegeta’s impressive musculature. Sighing, she fitted the scouter over her eye and tugged on boots and gloves. He wore entirely too much clothing, she thought, pressing her hand against the keypad and waiting as the door slid open to reveal an empty corridor. Huh. She blinked at the spot where the pair of hulking Saiyans usually stood at attention, waiting for her.

After a moment, she decided their absence was a good thing.

“Free time!” She grinned, and stepping forward she tried to keep Vegeta’s features impassive as she explored the ship, pausing to gaze out one of the windows and take in the blackness of space.

She took the winding hallways, breathing in the exotic smells and basking in the sights. And despite meandering, her legs carried her to exactly where she’d intended:

The Engineering Wing.

She spied through the window, toes flexed and neck strained. Rows and rows of shiny new starships sat ready for prepping. A gaggle of mechanics and engineers and techs swarmed around them, tweaking and testing. Each a cog in the machine that helped keep the empire running as swiftly and efficiently as it did.

She’d love to study the technology here. She could spend all day learning from these strange, foreign scientists. They could swap technology, find overlap. The possibilities were endless…

But a beautiful warrior with green skin and a braid falling down his shoulder stopped, frowned at her and said,

“Vegeta. What the hell are you doing?”

And since she didn’t have a good answer, she smiled sheepishly and continued walking toward the training facilities with a sigh of remorse.

Why did she have to swap bodies with a musclehead? Though inconvenient as their swapping was, she was starting to fall into a rhythm. Vegeta was strong and conservative. He was mean and brash and awkward. When he was in her body, he avoided her family and spent most of the time meditating or training with Goku. It was strange how well she’d come to know him when, technically, they’d never met.

The following morning, when she awoke to the smell of floral detergent and soft, purple sheets, she sighed.

She shoved her feet into a pair of slippers, avoiding mirrors, because she knew her hair was in desperate need of washing. Taking showers wasn’t one of the restrictions she’d given Vegeta whilst he was in her body, but he avoided doing so anyway. Probably because he didn’t know what to do with an attractive, naked woman. Bulma laughed as she picked up the tablet and began reading the sparse notes he’d left.

“Wear more modest clothes to bed?” she scoffed. “Just wait, bud. I’m going to start sleeping naked, just for you.”

She closed her bedroom door behind her and padded down the steps to the kitchen, where Goku sat at the dining table with a stack of a dozen or so pancakes.

“Oh,” he said through a mouthful of breakfast. “It’s you today.”

Bulma dropped into the chair next to him, her eyes wide. “Wait. You can tell when it’s not me?”

“Of course I can. Your chi is different,” he replied, with the flippancy of a weather report.

Bulma nodded. “So you can sense chi.”

“Yeah. And I’m teaching Vegeta how to, as well. Even though he hasn’t asked nicely yet.”

“Mm,” Bulma muttered in reply. Getting to her feet, she poured herself a cup of coffee and smiled. “Vegeta doesn’t seem the type to ask nicely for anything.”

“No, but I can tell he’s interested in sensing chi.”

Silence settled between the pair as Goku polished off the stack of pancakes and Bulma sipped her coffee, lost in thought.

“He thinks I’m… whatever race he is,” Goku said finally, when the pancakes were gone and he was tired of the quiet. “I wonder if that’s why this is happening.”

“You mean,” Bulma replied, turning the thought over in her mind, weighing the possibility. “You think this is happening because you’re both Saiyan?”

Goku shrugged. “Don’ know. You have any better theories?”

“No.” She sighed. And it pained her to admit it aloud.

…..

He didn’t have time to finish checking over the schedule before Frieza’s cackle interrupted his thoughts.

“I know how you hate being stuck on this ship,” Frieza’s high voice rang through the throne room, “but i don’t have anything coming up for you monkeys. I’d apologize, but I’m really not sorry.”

Vegeta kept his features impassive, even if his hands shook at his sides. Usually being stuck on base maddened him, but he was actually relieved. If Bulma had to complete a mission in his body, well, she’d probably manage to kill them both.

“Anything further, my lord?” he asked, a bit of sourness leaking into his tone.

“No. You may leave.” Waving a hand toward the door, Frieza motioned Vegeta toward freedom. He moved quickly, out of the throne room, cutting the quickest path to the training room.

He didn’t feel any weaker, physically, but the blasted Earthling did nothing but eat pastry and sit on her ass when they body swapped. She was maddening, really. Of all the people in the universe he had to suffer through this with...

A woman was waiting at the entrance to the training facilities. The moment her eyes landed on him her demeanor shifted. A smile lit her features and Vegeta frowned at her. She ignored it, skipping in his direction.

“Vegeta!” she greeted, her eyes big and glassy. He leaned back as she thoroughly invaded his personal space. “It’s so good to see you!”

Vegeta said nothing. He was so confused he couldn’t even snarl at her.

“I missed you this morning. Raditz said you had a meeting with Frieza. You’re not getting sent off base, are you?”

Why in the seven hells did she look worried for him? Who was this woman and… His jaw clenched. What had Bulma done now?!

“I’m not being sent anywhere,” he replied.

She sighed. Her chest heaving out in an exaggerated motion. If he knew any better, it seemed like something she’d wanted him to notice.

“Good. We’d just started getting to know one another, and you still haven’t made good on that promise of dessert.”

She winked--winked!--and Vegeta felt the tips of his ears heat. This insolent female! Flirting with him in front of all these soldiers! He caught Raditz’s wolfish smile over her shoulder and, almost reflexively, Vegeta shoved her away.

Her eyes widened before she caught herself. And when he glanced at her, she looked… hurt.

He scowled at her, jaw locked and eyes narrowed, before continuing into the training room.

After beating the shit out of Raditz for mocking him, he stormed to his room, ripped open a page to his notebook and shook with anger as he demanded in writing why Horta was acting so familiar with him.

And a few days later, when Bulma’s loopy handwriting was waiting for him, he thought a vein might burst in his skull.

_Because of your feminine sensibility, duh! You know, with my help I really think you have a chance with her. ;)_

_I don’t want to date her idiot!_ He wrote, throaty growl echoing in the emptiness of his chambers. _I don’t want to ‘date’ anyone._

Bulma laughed at his cramped penmanship. She could practically feel his frustration oozing from the page. Grinning, she picked up the writing utensil and replied,

_Enjoy the attention, short stuff. I’m the only chance you get at landing a babe like her._

And when she skipped out of his room--gloves on, scouter firmly in check--she grinned at Raditz waiting on her.

“Where’s Nappa?” she asked, then flinched. “Not that I care.”

Raditz shot her a slated glance. “He’s still in the tank.”

“The… tank?”

“No offense, sir, but would you like to go to the medical wing and check on him? And, uh,” Raditz scratched the back of his neck, “maybe see if they could check your head?”

“What?” Bulma tried to look offended. “What do you mean, Raditz?”

“It’s just… ah, some days you seem a bit off. You smile and get excited about things, and then you don’t remember where the launch bay is and you act like you don’t know what a regeneration tank is.”

“Oh.” Bulma shrugged. “I’ve been training a bit hard. Might’ve jumbled my brains a bit, but nothing time won’t heal.”

Raditz exhaled. “Well that sounds like you, at least.”

He lead her to the regeneration tank and Bulma stared in fascination at the technology. Raditz did his best to explain the technicalities of how the tank worked, and though his knowledge was a bit rudimentary she managed to fill in some of the gaps. Her fingers itched to take the thing apart. Perhaps she could manage to build one herself once back on Earth. If only she could test what was in the healing liquid…

Then her scouter beeped and Raditz groaned.

“Great. Frieza wants us to take a look at something in the engineering wing.”

Bulma grinned. She loved the engineering wing. Another hotbed of ideas. It might’ve been cheating a bit, peeking at futuristic technology and then inventing it back home, but she never claimed sainthood. And besides, she was bettering her world and stuff.

They arrived at the science bay and Bulma tried to keep her composure neutral, even if she was bursting at the seams. They were going to inspect something. She was finally going to get a chance to tinker with an invention! To hold it, take it apart, look at the tech--

“It’s sufficient,” Raditz said.

Bulma’s mouth hung agape.

“You didn’t even touch it! What is it?”

The scientist shook as his eyes jumped from Raditz to herself and back again. As a pair, they were pretty intimidating. Bulma tried a comforting smile, but then she remembered how cruel Vegeta could look when he smiled and she relaxed a touch. Stuffing his hands into his lab coats pocket--apparently white coats in the scientific community was a cliché that extended to space--the man cleared his throat,

“Price Vegeta, sir, feel free to take a look. It’s a self-balancing suspension panel. It should assist those foot soldiers in squadrons who are unable to fly.”

She nodded. Self-balancing suspension panel... “That’s amazing.” Then she turned to Raditz. “It’s like a hover board. Can we try them out?”

“Try them out…?” Raditz looked perplexed. “Why would we do that? We can fly.”

“We can fly?!”

Goku couldn’t even fly. She shook her head. In all her time here, she’d never seen anyone fly. In the training arena she’d seen people suspend and charge, but nothing close to flying… She fixed her smile on Raditz. Giving him her big, glassy eyed pleading look, she asked, “Please?!”

And self-balancing suspension panels were awesome. She’d even managed a smile out of Raditz. They took a bit to balance (for something that claimed to be ‘self-balancing’ she’d put it in the criticism column) but once she found Vegeta’s center of gravity, she was able to use her toes to guide the board up and to the left. She giggled and made a small circle around Raditz.

He exhaled. “Your highness, I think we can safely say these will be sufficient for the foot soldiers.”

She sighed. She never got to do anything fun in Vegeta’s body. And taking advantage of space technology was definitely, definitely her idea of a good time. 

“Really fine job,” she told the scientist, addressing him as she did the engineers at Capsule Corps. “Take some time off and celebrate a job well done.”

As they entered the hallway, Raditz muttered so only she could hear, “Uh, sir. Do you have authority to order scientists to take time off?”

Uh. Bulma shrugged. He’d know better than her. “Raditz, I’m starving.” She pressed her hands against her stomach. She’d never known hunger like this. Being a Saiyan was like having a greedy, nagging pain scraping at her insides. Vegeta’s body must’ve demanded an insane amount of calories to feel this ravenous between meals.

She remembered Goku’s appetite and paused. Could he really be Saiyan? She glanced down at the tail wrapped around her waist. At some point, she’d discovered the thing and nearly lost it, but there was a sort of ease in which it wrapped itself snugly there and she tended to forget about its existence.

“Raditz,” she called. He shot her a look and she asked, “Do we turn into giant apes in the moonlight and start destroying shit?”

He paused. Stared at her. And continued staring like she’d asked what direction space was. After nearly a minute of silence, he shook his head.

“You’ve officially lost it,” he mumbled, and then lead her into the common area. Bulma exhaled. Apparently Saiyans didn’t turn into giant, crazed monkeys. Good to know. 

She slid into line behind Raditz and tried to pile a bit of protein on her plate before going crazy at the desserts table. It was just so damn hard. Meats here were boring and flavorless. They had no sauces or spices. She’d complained to Vegeta about it once and he’d simply written back that meat had a purpose and it didn’t require bells and whistles. Rolling her eyes, she balanced another petite pink cake on her plate and followed Raditz back to an empty table.

Instead of tearing into his meal like he usually did, Raditz stared at her. And stared and stared. Bulma gave an innocently timed blink, but remained mute. She hadn’t the slightest guess as to what was going through his mind.

Finally, Raditz shook his head and grabbed for his seven-pronged eating utensil. It almost resembled a fork but had none of the efficiency of the device.

“Some days, I think you’re possessed. Nappa’s really worried about you.”

“Oh.” Bulma nodded. “I’m just going through some things. Mental leaps, you could call it.”

He looked bemused. “Mental leaps?”

“Sure.”

They ate in silence. Bulma stuffed the tasteless hunks of who-knows-what animal tissue into Vegeta’s mouth. She coached herself to chew. She avoided the gelatinous lumps that were supposedly packed with ‘the good stuff.’ When she was satisfied that she wasn’t ruining Vegeta’s physique, she picked up a purple tarte sprinkled with tiny berries and popped it into her mouth. She contained a squeal, and when she chanced a glance to make sure Raditz hadn’t noticed her delight of pastry, she found his attention elsewhere.

Following his gaze, she craned Vegeta’s neck and found an attractive humanoid man sipping some of his carbonated drink with the very morose demeanor that seemed signature of PTO soldiers.

He had flaxen hair and pale skin. His eyes were grey, and when he steepled his hands at his chin, Bulma noted they looked long and thin. Nimble hands for a soldier, really. When she swapped her attention back on Raditz she found a bit of longing in his gaze.

“Ohhh,” she sang. “I see! You like him.”

Ears pink, Raditz dropped his gaze to his untouched food.

“That’s so strange.” Bulma frowned. “A big, bara guy like you? I wouldn’t have taken you for the passive type.”

“I’m not. Usually. But I tried my normal line on him, and it completely backfired,” Raditz mumbled into his plate.

“Oh? And what’s your normal line?”

Raditz frowned at her for a few seconds before admitting, “Fuck me if I’m wrong, but you want me, right?”

Bulma’s face fell. “That’s worked for you before?”

His expression turned stormy. She laughed.

“Oh, Raditz. I don’t know what kinds of guys you usually go after, but that guy seems pretty decent. That isn’t the kind of line he wants to hear. Maybe you should try being a bit… nicer next time? More genuine.”

Raditz rolled his eyes. “And why should I take advice from you? You’ve never hit on someone in your entire life.”

Bulma exhaled through Vegeta’s nose. If only that were the truth.

…..

He sat down at her desk, glaring at the tablet she’d left for him to communicate with her. As shitty a job she was doing in his body, he wasn’t sure why he was putting forth any amount of effort to save face while he was in hers. He ground her teeth together.

_Wear more clothes to sleep._

He growled. She had no sense of modesty, and it seemed like she’d begun sleeping in less just to torment him. He stared at the tablet. If it wasn’t bad enough he had women flirting with him while he was in his own body thanks to the idiot woman’s shenanigans, now he had to deal with an idiot of another nature entirely. He thought about breaking the tablet before finally exhaling and typing out:

_Your boyfriend came by._

…..

“My boyfriend came by?!” she screeched. “That’s not information, Vegeta! You big idiot.”

Stomping down the steps and grumbling to herself, Bulma yanked a sweatshirt over her head and rubbed her tired eyes. She was feeling rather lazy today, but her To Do List in the lab was piling high. She’d gotten so much inspiration from the Engineering Wing on the PTO ship that she wasn’t sure what to work on next.

When she rounded the kitchen, Bulma snatched a croissant from the table and found her mother grinning at her.

Quirking a single brow, Bulma watched her mother’s smile tug even wider.

“I’m just so proud of you,” Mrs. Brief tittered.

“What?” she managed through a mouthful of dough. “Why?”

Continuing to make enough pastry to feed the entirety of King Fury’s army, Bulma’s mother laughed. “That handsy gentleman your father works with… The CEO of Rethridge… Rethroux… Reth--”

“Rethbow,” Bulma supplied.

“Yes. That’s the one. Yesterday, don’t you remember?”

Bulma felt her heart sink to her feet. And, slowly, she replied, “No.”

“Well, he put his arm around you and you put him in a headlock.” Mrs. Brief giggled. She shook her head and continued kneading dough. “Were you drunk, Bulma dear?”

“Maybe,” she mumbled, tearing off a chunk of croissant with her teeth.

“When he threatened to sue our company, you punched him so hard you knocked him out cold.”

“I did what?”

“Yeah, but then you were cursing about your ‘weak, worthless hand’ for hours afterwards. You must’ve been drunk. That explains it. How’s it feeling, Bulma dear? You wouldn’t let me ice it, and you put on this big show of being a big, tough girl.” Her mother laughed. “Anyway, your father’s probably going to have to settle with them, but I don’t think Rethbow’ll be bothering us again.”

And maybe she should’ve been pissed, but she wasn’t. Flexing her hand outward and feeling a bit of tenderness, Bulma smiled. “Wow.”

“Anyway, I suspect Goku might be coming by again today, so I wanted to have plenty of food prepared.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “I doubt he’ll be coming.” He only seemed to pop by when Vegeta was in her body. Instead, the first visitor of the day was Yamcha. And very unlike her on-again, off-again beau, today he greeted her with a frown.

“Shit,” she muttered, waiting on him to dump her.

Instead, he asked, “Is your mouth any better today?”

“My… mouth?” Bulma brought her index and middle fingers against her lips and pressed, hard.

“Yeah.” Yamcha was staring at her, concern in his eye that she might scream at him. Well, that could be the case whether Vegeta was in her body of not. He scratched the back of his neck. “Yesterday you said you were testing stuff out in the lab and your lips were… infected?”

Bulma rolled her eyes, and beneath her breath mumbled, “Idiot.”

…..

“Idiot,” Vegeta grumbled. And though he was the kind of guy who prided himself on a lot of things, keeping his temper in check wasn’t one of them. He slammed his scouter against the wall so hard it shattered. “And now I have to get another scouter thanks to that no-good female…”

Storming from his chambers toward the science wing, he nearly tripped over his own feet. Instead of Nappa and Raditz waiting on him, it was Horta. Her smile was unsure, and for some reason she kept blinking her big, purple eyes at him over and over and over again. Vegeta felt his nostrils twitch.

“Is there something in your eye?”

“Oh.” Her smile evaporated and was replaced with a blank stare. Her hands dropped to her sides and shook slightly. Her teeth bit down on her lower lip as she replied, “I was hoping we could grab breakfast again.”

 _Again_. Vegeta wanted to bang his head against the wall. He wanted to borrow a pod and confront Bulma on whatever shithole planet she was from. Instead, he ignored Horta and kept walking, leaving her blinking dumbly at his retreating frame.

He didn’t have time for this, for any of this. He needed to train because Bulma was slacking off on her days in his body. At least when he was in her place he was learning things like how to better control chi and how to sense life forces. Kakarot was an idiot, but he was good for something, at least. And now, to top it all off, he was going to need a replacement scouter.

He didn’t have time for Horta and breakfast. He definitely didn’t have time for the smalltalk about how Raditz’s date went. And when he woke up the following morning, he found himself in neither his nor Bulma’s bed.

Instead, he lifted his head from the solid surface of a workbench and stared at the messy laboratory. He’d never been there before, and when glanced down and found himself in Bulma’s body he wasn’t surprised. She’d fallen asleep in clothing at least, so that was relief.

Walking around, he inspected the cluttered lab. He told himself he wasn’t curious what she’d been working on, but supposedly she was intelligent and he wanted some semblance of proof given that in all communication he’d had with her she’d proved herself to be the biggest idiot in the universe.

He was mildly surprised to find a scouter. It was rudimentary and only half-finished, but it was definitely a perfect replica of a PTO scouter. On a different worktop sat some Saiyan-style armor. He paused. Reaching out, he ran a hand over the chestplate and couldn’t help the smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth. It didn’t piss him off, which was strange because when Frieza had stolen the design from his people he’d been furious. But Bulma replicating the strong, flexibility of the armor was kind of… flattering.

On another table scattered with hectically drawn blueprints and empty coffee mugs sat a round radar with a green gridded screen. He picked it up and frowned. It didn’t appear the radar was picking up any signal, and so he put it back down.

Before exiting the lab, he cast one last glance at the armor. Bulma did profess to be a genius. Perhaps he was starting to believe her.

…..

She probably shouldn’t spend another day in the engineering wing, Vegeta had asked that she do some pushups or sit-ups or punch something--and it would be a crime, really, if she contributed to the loss of his rock-hard abs. However, she found herself entirely unmotivated, so there she was.

The engineer tinkering with the scouter had soft, black fur and big doe eyes. He reminded her a bit of Scratch from back home.

“Oh,” she heard Vegeta’s voice articulating her thoughts before she could stop herself. “You should use a shorter coil. They overheat so easily and that’s what makes them short out so often. If you cut it down a third of the size, it’ll hold up much longer.”

The engineer stared down at the coil lost in thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Brilliant. That’s perfect.” And as he grabbed a pair of needle-nose pliers he said, “I didn’t know you were so smart, Vegeta.”

“Ah.” Bulma started, and quickly stopped. She stood there, opening and closing her mouth a few times before settling with, “Lucky guess.”

There she was, she thought smugly to herself, bettering the universe, and meanwhile what the hell was Vegeta doing?

But when she woke up in her own body, ‘IDIOT’ scribbled across her face (oh, she’d get him back for that one) she caught the reflection of her backside in the mirror. Huh. Her figure had always been exceptional, but the extra squats weren’t hurting.

“Hey, Vegeta. I owe you one!” She laughed. Maybe she’d secure a date with Horta for him; the ungrateful jerk could thank her later.


	3. three

Of all the things he could be doing with his time, and there were a lot of shitty tasks on his to do list--watching Nappa nibble his hangnail, listening to Raditz ask for romantic advice, being in the same room as Frieza--sitting in on a Capsule Corps. board meeting was pretty far down the list.

But since Bulma had agreed to do just about everything he’d asked, there he was.

_Nod when people are talking. If anyone says anything stupid, feel free to glare. I’m kind of a bitch, so no one will bat an eye. However, don’t make any promises or give concrete answers. If someone asks you a question directly, just say you’ll get back to them later. And please, please for the love of cats Vegeta, write down what they asked so I can actually get back to them._

He reflected over her note, ignoring the last bit where she thanked him for how fantastic her ass was looking these days, and glared at the tall man with a shock of white hair. Vegeta didn’t have the faintest clue what the man was saying, but it sounded stupid at least.

When a woman with short, dark hair handed him a little blue box, he accepted it.

“Please, Ms. Briefs,” she said, her smile tight and nervous. Huh. Perhaps Bulma _was_ a bit of a bitch. He almost chuckled to himself. She might not’ve possessed an ounce of strength, but she still managed to have a board room full of people shaking in their proverbial boots. “It’s just a prototype. Give it a look at let us know what you think.”

“Yes,” he replied, keeping Bulma’s voice sharp. “I’ll get back to you later.”

See? Living the woman’s life wasn’t impossible. Peering inside, he glanced at the item inside the box and nearly dropped it.

It was smooth and strange looking. Smaller than his littlest finger but similar in shape. The number 33 was printed boldly on its surface, and he stared at the thing, trying to remember where he’d gotten the one in his possession. Perhaps the woman had seen his while snooping around his room and recreated the thing. 

He should ask her what it did.

Instead, he left the board meeting and marched back across the lawn to the gigantic building the woman lived in. He took the stairs, removing the stupid coat she’d left out for him to wear, and tossed it on the pile of laundry she never seemed to get around to doing.

“Idiot,” he complained to the empty room. Then he sat the box down on the desk and tapped out a note for Bulma to give the board her thoughts on the prototype.

He lifted his head and glared at the array of photos she had stuck to her mirror. Many of them Kakarot, out grinning like a fool when he ought’ve been destroying this planet. The scar-faced weakling who always wanted to put his hands on him. And those of Bulma herself. It was strange, seeing her unabashed smile. Her big, stupid blue eyes. She was a stranger, and yet she was someone he was forced to think about every day.

He frowned at a photo of her, cheeks smudged with oil and hair windswept around her face. A pair of goggles rested on the top of her head, and she was once again smiling.

Maybe, when this insanity was over, he’d… He’d what? Vegeta tapped down the emotion clawing its way into his chest cavity with a shake of his head. Or Bulma’s head, rather. This entire ordeal was too fucking strange.

When he awoke the following morning in his own body, he read over Bulma’s recap from the previous day and then yanked open the desk drawer. A little device stared back up at him. The woman must’ve recreated it on her home world--they looked identical, except for the number printed on this one was a 9. 

He threw the drawer closed and fought the urge to slam his head against the wall. Thanks in part to Kakarot’s lessons, he’d become an expect in sensing chi. And outside his door he could feel Horta hovering.

“Fucking Bulma…” he growled. And when he pressed his hand against the doorpad, he was greeted by her nervous  smile. 

“What?” he snapped.

“I… We…” Her smile fell. “Today’s our date.”

How fucking useless to spend a day…

“I don’t have time today,” he replied, and pushed past her. He could feel her staring after him. If Bulma really liked the woman so much, she should stop putting ridiculous notions in her head. He wasn’t interested in dating. He wasn’t interested in anything apart from making up for the time Bulma spent in his body…

 

…..

 

She turned onto her stomach and sighed. Thankfully, not crashing into the floor meant she’d awoken in her own body. Reaching out, she ran her hand over the soft, purple blankets and exhaled. As she brought herself to a sitting position, however, her hands tightened around the bedsheets.

Today was the date with Horta. 

Bulma bit her lip and got to her feet. She tugged off the long-sleeve shirt Vegeta had dressed in for sleep and tossed it into the laundry basket. It was overflowing. Bulma sighed. She should take care of that today…

Instead, she shoved her feet into a pair of worn slippers and made her way over to the desk where Vegeta’s notes were waiting for her. She read them over, smiled, and then read them over once more. 

_You’re entirely powerless, but it appears that everyone in that boardroom fears you. Fear is a sign of respect._

She laughed. Her temper was famous, sure, but nothing like the lethal PTO weapon Vegeta was… 

“I hope you’re having fun on your date,” she mumbled. “Be nice to poor Horta. She’s a nice girl. Too good for you, probably.”

And then Bulma paused. There was a stabbing in her chest, an emotion she was entirely too familiar with.

“But that’s impossible,” she whispered. “I couldn’t possibly be…”

But despite talking herself down, she was jealous. But how, she wondered, her eyes reading over the notes from the grumpy soldier. Was it possible to like a person she didn’t actually know? Their only communication was through notes. She hadn't even met him, not really. Besides, she had a boyfriend. She had… Bulma sighed.

She inspected the Number 33 Capsule. Inside were the plans for a faster space shuttle. She and her father had developed a sturdy prototype currently resting on the Capsule Corps. lawn. Her gaze drifted toward where it sat and she bit her lip. She didn’t have anything pressing today. Perhaps she could test it out, make a short space journey to… Only, she didn’t know where the PTO base was located. Space was vast, too vast even for her own brilliant mind to comprehend. Finding Vegeta would be like searching for a specific grain of sand at the beach.

And besides, what would she do, anyway? Confront him and ask him how his date went? No. That was ridiculous.

Instead, she dressed and went downstairs, nearly tripping over her own feet at the sight of Goku in her kitchen.

“Are you sure you don’t want any breakfast, Goku?” Bulma’s mother asked.

“No.” Rubbing his belly, he replied, “I’m stuffed. Chichi made a feast this morning.” 

“But I just took out the muffins…”

“Well, I always have room for muffins.”

“Goku,” Bulma interrupted, and he grinned in her direction.

Through a mouthful of muffin, he managed, “Morning, Bulma. I’m going to see Kami today. He asked to bring you along.”

She blinked. “Oh.” And then she found herself sitting on top of the lookout, staring down at the little tufts of white clouds below. Even if she was mostly reckless and a bit of a daredevil, the view always made her stomach drop. Especially with the way the wind gusted. 

“I know it’s strange,” Kami said, and she took a step back, her feet more grounded.

“It is,” she replied. Being so high up was unn--

“But just remember, the Kai’s have a reason for everything. Even if their methods don’t always make sense.”

Bulma tilted her head to one side, blue hair spilling over her shoulder as she processed Kami’s words. The wind momentarily calmed and her dress settled back around her knees. “The Kais?”

“Yes.” Kami nodded. “They need Earth intact and this was the only way they could think to save it.”

She frowned, her brain grasping at the possibility behind his cryptic words.

Kami exhaled. “We were going to use the balls, but since there was a wasted wish, there’s no time. This was the only way.”

“Use the balls for what, Kami?” she asked. The wind tossed her hair around; it took hold of her dress and flicked it about, cracking the air like a cotton sail. Bulma shivered against the chill.

“You’ll see in time.” His smile was kind, and it reached his eyes. Another burst of wind came as quickly as it settled and he said, “In the meantime, try not to upset the boy too much.”

She watched him go, over to where Goku was squatting down, staring cross-eyed at a plant. Her heartbeat thrummed against her ribcage.

  
“What boy?” she asked, but Kami was too far away as the wind took her words and carried them away.

 

…..

 

He only scribbled one note on his desk for her that evening: 

_Stay out of my personal life._

He didn’t have time for a useless farce like dating. He didn’t want any distractions, had never desired platonic or romantic connections in the entirety of his life.

The next time they swapped, he’d be sure that Bulma wouldn’t meddle. That she wouldn’t coach Raditz on dating the idiotic soldier he was always staring longingly at in the cafeteria. He wouldn’t allow her to plant incorrect notions regarding his own feelings for Horta.

Only, there wasn’t a next time they swapped. He’s himself for weeks. Months.

After swapping two or three times a week with woman, months go by and... nothing. And even though it made no sense, he found he missed her. Her planet, her strange parents, even Kakarot. He missed her biting notes, he missed waking up to find her penmanship sprawled out across his arms, the word ‘idiot’ scrawled across his own brow, shouting at him for something he’d done to her life.

He carried out a purge, worried each morning that Bulma would wake up in his body, but each day it was the same. He was himself. Back on base, he went to the cafeteria to fill his plate with sustenance after weeks of tasteless rations.

When he dropped into an empty table, he was only alone for a few moments before Horta slid across from him.

“How was Retyna 005?” she asked conversationally.

It was no longer a planet, he thought bitterly, but instead glared at her.

She sighed. “Just making conversation. You guys were gone for so long, I was worried about you.”

Vegeta scoffed. No one in the universe worried for his safety, nor did they have a reason to. He looked at her, really looked at her and decided that she was rather attractive.

He should want her. Probably. Nappa and Raditz managed to find time to train and have relations. But Vegeta had never considered himself similar to either of his subordinates. He was not one to succumb to his bodily wants. He could even go long periods of time without things he needed. He’d gone months without food, days without sleep. Satiating his appetite, sexual or otherwise, was something he could ignore. He’d certainly be able to last a bit longer without the temptation of the woman.

When his eating utensil snapped in half, Horta handed him her unused one and sighed.

“You're different again.”

Vegeta met her gaze. “What?”

“Shy, reserved. Angry. Sometimes I think you like me,” she smiled, “And then sometimes, I don’t know. Sometimes I think you’re interested in someone else.”

Vegeta stabbed something on his plate, he didn’t much care what, and tried to tune out the woman’s chatter.

“What’s her name?”

And even though he’s an idiot for it, he can’t help but think of blue eyes. Of a taunting little smile. Of a wickedly smart brain that was used equally for recreating honed PTO technology as it was for annoying him. 

He deposited his dinner in the wastebasket and returned to his room. He yanked open the drawer to his desk and flipped through the pages of notes she’d left for him. He read over a few them, cursing her because she was annoying and conceited and charming.

Then he picked up the little device, frowning at the number 9 printed on its surface. There was a button on top. He clicked it, but nothing happened. Rolling the thing between his index finger and thumb, Vegeta exhaled but the tightening in his chest didn’t budge.

His possessions were Spartan, but he’d always felt some strange attachment to the little tube. And he’d never gotten the chance to ask Bulma what it was, or how he’d come to possess this one.

He didn’t need to see her, no. But he wanted to.

Storming down the hallway, he knocked on Raditz’s door. The door hissed and slid open, revealing Raditz shrugging a shirt over his head. He didn’t bother to put on pants as he stood there, blinking at his prince in confusion.

“Vegeta. Is everything alright?”

Instead of answering, Vegeta snapped, “What planet was Kakarot sent to?”

Raditz stilled. His hands stopped fidgeting with his shirt, and he replied, slowly,

“Earth.”

Yes, Vegeta thought. _Earth_. He’d heard that from those idiots many times:  “What on earth?!” “How on earth?!”

With a single nod, Vegeta commanded, “Let’s go.”

“Go...?”

“To Earth.”

“Ah.” Raditz scratched the back of his neck. It had been months since Vegeta had undergone one of these strange episodes, where it seemed he was someone entirely different. But there he was. Raditz cleared his throat. “Sorry, Vegeta. That isn’t possible.”

“And why not?”

“Earth was destroyed three years ago. It was purged by Orieln’s squad.”

The gravity in the room felt doubled as Vegeta couldn’t quite manage to move. Even breathing was suddenly difficult. 

“That’s impossible,” he said. And Raditz opened his mouth to respond, but before he could come up with anything to say Vegeta was gone, storming down the corridor in another one of his fits.

Vegeta flipped his scouter over his eye and turned the device on. It had become largely a prop since he’d learned to sense chi, but it still had its uses.

He typed in the planet’s name and read, his eyes flickering over the sparse detail.

_Earth. Destroyed Lunar Cycle 2._

“That’s impossible,” he hissed. “She existed. She was here, and I was there.” 

But he tried to remember the last time he’d been on her planet. The last time he’d gone a day as her, and the details were fuzzy. Had he dreamed it all up?

“No,” he nearly shouted. _No_. She wasn’t gone. She wasn’t… 

Vegeta kept walking, his hands shaking at his sides. He found himself in the training facilities, and he started up his push up regime, lost in his racing thoughts. Doubting his sanity.

Somehow, he managed to pick himself off the training room floor and eat dinner and shower and, eventually, fall asleep.

And when he woke up, he was in Bulma’s body.


	4. four

His index finger swiped frantically across the screen, over and over again, watching the dates on Bulma's calendar flip by. However, he had no way of knowing when the purge would happen as Earth didn't use the universal calendar.

"Stupid, backwards planet…" he grumbled.

Regardless, he was here so the planet hadn't been destroyed... _yet_. Which meant not only had he been traveling across the universe, but back in time as well.

Vegeta could feel a chi levitating closer. When he glanced out the window, he saw Goku levitating on the stupid cloud he rode around on.

"Hey, Vegeta!" Goku called, far too loudly for their proximity. "I've been practicing and I think I've got flying down."

Vegeta felt his temple throb, the telltale sign of the beginnings of a splitting headache. "I don't have time for this right now, Kakarot. I've got to stop this."

"Stop… what?" Goku asked.

"Your planet from being destroyed."

Goku scratched his neck. It was weird enough having Vegeta in his oldest friend's body, but when Vegeta shouted things at him like that, he wasn't sure how to deal. "Uh. What?"

"In my time, Earth is already gone. We're going to change that."

"We...?" Goku asked, following Bulma's retreating frame down the stairs.

Standing in the entrance to the kitchen, Vegeta interrupted the Briefs' breakfast. The scientist sat sipping his coffee in a white lab coat. The annoying female was at the sink, yellow gloves to her elbows and humming a ballad to a dinner plate. The scar-faced weakling was sat at the table, chewing on strip of bacon.

In the lowest tone he could take Bulma's voice, Vegeta called, "Earth is going to be destroyed. We're all leaving."

"Bulma, have some breakfast first," her mother said, while her father didn't bother to glace up from his paper.

"Babe. I don't think you're feeling yourself again," Yamcha spoke. There was pity in his eyes and in the lines of his smile. "I'm not getting on your prototype ship and going off world."

Vegeta shrugged one of Bulma's shoulders. He didn't much care if the weakling made it off world or not.

"I'm supposedly a genius, right? Is my porotype sufficient for getting off-world?" he asked. Surely if Bulma was working on a spaceship he could get her far away from Earth in time. How he was going to stop the purge was another feat entirely. Why he cared if she lived or not wasn't something he was ready to reflect on.

Finally looking up from his paper, the doctor inclined his head. "The second prototype seems more than functional. You wanted to test it out this weekend. Couldn't hurt to do it sooner."

"Good. Then let's make preparations."

…..

She crashed to the floor and groaned. Lifting her head, she looked around the dimly lit room and exhaled.

"Long time no see, Vegeta," she muttered. And, shaking her head, she got to her feet and dressed. She didn't bother stealing any peaks at his impressive musculature. She was too exhausted. On the desk was only a single line:

_Stay out of my personal life._

She grinned. "Fine. No more dates with Horta, then."

The poor girl was going to be devastated. Bulma's personality in Vegeta's body? That wasn't a combination any woman was going to get over soon…

Bulma exhaled at the reflection in the mirror. He really was handsome, if unconventionally so. Short and a little sour-looking. Bulma ran a hand across the high cheekbones and up the dramatic sweep of dark hair. She closed her eyes and leaned so that his brow was pressed against the mirror.

"Why is this happening?" she whispered against his reflection.

Since no response was forthcoming, she dressed and met Raditz and Nappa in the hallway. She nodded at each in turn and followed them to breakfast.

Once her plate was piled high with nothing that resembled breakfast foods from back home, Bulma unpinned her napkin and retrieved her too-complicated-for-its-own-good eating utensil. She brought a spoonful of purple porridge to her mouth at the same time Raditz said,

"You seem to have gotten over the whole Earth-thing."

The porridge dropped back into the dish and she shrieked, "The what?"

"Yesterday. When you were asking about Earth," Raditz explained patiently, though his features were laced with concern. Bulma knew she was probably being obvious, but her heartbeat hummingbird quick against her ribs. She was practically dancing in her seat-a very un-Vegeta-like move, but she couldn't help it. And, because she was curious as hell as to why Vegeta was asking about Earth, she prodded,

"I'm having trouble remembering. What did I say?"

Raditz frowned at her and, sure, she knew she was making Vegeta look like an idiot but this was for _science_.

"You wanted to go to Earth."

"For...?" Her heart squeezed with hope.

Shrugging a shoulder, Raditz bit off a hunk of meat straight from the bone and replied, "Dunno. I told you Earth was destroyed and then you got all weird and wouldn't talk to me."

"But that's impossible," she whispered to herself.

"That's what you said yesterday," Nappa said. He pointed an accusatory finger in her direction.

And even though a logical part of her brain screamed that she should be figuring out the whole Earth-being-destroyed thing, another part of her brain rejoiced. Surely that meant Vegeta wanted to meet her too. She grinned.

"Quit being a ditz, Bulma," she whispered to herself. Because, somehow, in whatever thread of time Vegeta lived, her home world was gone.

"Oh!" Her eyes widened with realization. "This is what Kami meant!"

" _They need Earth intact and this was the only way they could think to save it."_

She dropped her eating utensil and her purple porridge sloshed.

" _But just remember, the Kais have a reason for everything. Even if their methods don't always make sense."_

"How long?" she asked.

Raditz stared at her for a moment, half certain Vegeta had gone insane, before replying, "Three years ago."

"Three years." She stared at Vegeta's gloved hands. Just yesterday she'd been tinkering in her lab, finishing up the second prototype space shuttle. Had that really been more than three years in Vegeta's past? She swallowed the thickness in Vegeta's throat, his Adam's apple bobbing.

She'd been on Earth yesterday. It made no sense. Unless… Unless they weren't just body swapping across the universe, but swapping across time.

So she'd figured out _why_ this was happening, but she was still a little unclear on how she was supposed to be the one to stop this without the dragon balls.

…..

Hands planted firmly on either of Bulma's hips, Vegeta frowned at the round shuttle sitting on the Capsule Corps. lawn. The old doctor had said it would fly, and Vegeta was mildly impressed that she'd made it large enough to comfortably seat five or six people.

"Who can pilot this?" he asked, Bulma's sharp voice stopping the chatter about what Ms. Briefs was going to be fixing for lunch.

"You can," Dr. Briefs replied.

Vegeta shut his eyes and sucked in a deep breath to keep from exploding on everyone. "Who _else_ can pilot this?"

"Uh." Goku scratched his nose. "You taught Gohan some of the basics. He's a smart boy; I bet he could do it."

"Fine. Take me to this Gohan."

"I can do that, but I really doubt Chichi is going to let you take him into space."

"Chichi?" he asked, and watched as a smile bloomed across Goku's features.

"Yeah. Chichi. My wife."

And to his credit, Kakarot had managed to find himself a very Saiyan woman. After suffering through the single greatest humiliation of his existence in having Goku carry him to his house in the middle of fucking nowhere, they touched down and were immediately greeted by a dark haired woman.

She tapped one foot and scowled. She crossed her arms and raised her chi. Vegeta stilled. She was stronger than the average Earthling, that much was for certain. Kakarot had not only managed to find someone who looked and acted like a Saiyan on this shithole of a planet, but someone with a fairly decent power level to boot.

"Goku," she growled. And a touch nicer, she added, "Bulma."

"Hey, Chichi!" Goku grinned. "This here's Vegeta."

Her eyes darted toward Bulma and her frown deepened a touch.

"Goku, I don't know what this is about, but Krillin came by and he and Gohan-"

"There's no time for this inane drabble," Vegeta growled. "I need Gohan to pilot a ship for me."

"You need my Gohan to do _what_?!"

Before he could repeat himself, a small bald man stepped out of the house, followed by a timid little boy who stared at Bulma like she might blast him into another dimension.

A timid little boy with a tail.

Vegeta's jaw dropped, but it was the small bald man who spoke,

"Who are you?" he asked, brows narrowing.

"I was just introducing him. This here's Vegeta. He and Bulma have been… ah, swapping places, I guess you could say," Goku replied. And to his credit, his blind confidence never faltered. "He needs to take the Capsule shuttle into space to save the planet. And we need Gohan to fly it."

Chichi shook. Vegeta felt the prickles of her frustration at her husband's words, and he could hardly blame the woman.

"I don't know what's going on here, but you aren't taking my baby into space, Bulma." Her dark eyes flashed violently. "Find somebody else."

"You imbecile!" Vegeta shouted. "The plant's going to be destroyed if we don't do something!"

Chichi exhaled, and some of her frustration evaporated. "Fine. But I'm coming, too."

"Yeah!" Goku cheered. "Me, too!"

"And, uh, I'm coming along as well," the short bald one spoke. Though he didn't look all the certain about his decision to tag along.

Vegeta did not want to be on Bulma's little ship with all these Earthlings, but for whatever reason he-the destroyer of words-was here to save this fucking useless one all because a girl with pretty blue eyes left him notes and, maybe if she wasn't dead, he'd get to meet her someday.

"This is fucked," he muttered to himself. At the same time Gohan said,

"Ah, so I'm flying Bulma's ship to where, exactly?"

"Space!" Goku replied.

Vegeta didn't bother to correct Kakarot's inane response. Instead, he stared at the little half-Saiyan boy. How was it possible that there was a compatible species? How had Kakarot managed to reproduce? The race he'd once been fated to lead but instead had watched die out, had, for the first time in so long… hope.

The little half-Saiyan was frowning. "But why are we going into space?"

"Because!" Goku laughed good naturedly. "We're going to save Earth!"

…..

When she woke up, she knew she wasn't in her own bed. However, when she blinked the sleep from her eyes she found she wasn't in Vegeta's sterile room either, but sleeping on the floor in her second Capsule shuttle prototype. She jumped to her feet, eyes flashing over all the people sleeping peacefully on the floor. To the right of where she'd been sleeping was Chichi, the woman's dark hair pulled back as her mouth hung agape. Next to her, Goku snoring so loudly he blew a stray lock of Gohan's hair with each exhale. And at the end was Krillin, tangled in blankets.

"What is going on?!" she screeched, eyes wide as she took in the vast darkness of space outside the front window. She shouldn't have been so surprised that her shuttle was flying (she'd designed it herself, after all), but she was lost as to why Vegeta had gone so far as to gather up a handful of her friends and take them off-world.

With shaking hands, she smoothed down the fabric of her grey t-shirt and watched her sleeping friends. Krillin was the first to wake. He eyed her, sheepishly, before exhaling.

"Oh. Good. You're Bulma again."

"Yes," she replied. So Goku wasn't the only one who could sense her presence. "Hey, Krillin. Why are we in space?"

"Yesterday, Vegeta was going on about how Earth is going to be destroyed."

She nodded, once. "Yeah, I know that."

"You know that?"

"Mm-hm. But what, exactly, does us being onboard my shuttle have to do with that?" she asked, and watched as he squirmed beneath the weight of her scrutiny.

Finally, he replied, "Vegeta said we could fight."

"Or," a small voice spoke up. Bulma and Krillin turned to see Gohan arising from his pile of blankets. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "I was thinking, maybe we don't have to fight. Maybe we can beat this thing with technology."

Bulma grinned. At least there was one person she could count on to speak her language.

"And how would we do that?" Krillin asked.

"I haven't thought about it much, but we could try hacking into the system." Gohan's tiny hands settled atop some of his blankets. Flanked by his parents who were both awakened by their conversation. "Maybe delete the record of Earth? Or at the very least change the description."

"Falsify the records…" Bulma chewed on her lower lip, lost in thought. She didn't know anything about how the PTO system worked. She only had a basal knowledge from tampering with Vegeta's scouter, but she thrived under pressure and was always up for a challenge. "It's worth a shot."

"Aw, I wanted to fight. Vegeta said we were going to get to fight," Goku sighed.

It was Krillin who gave a teetering groan, his eyes never straying from Bulma. "So, I don't really have any clue what's going on, but how are we even going to get on this PTO ship? We don't know where it is. I mean, space is huge, right? And once we see it are we just going to request passage or sneak aboard or-?"

Suddenly, the ship came to a jostling halt. Blankets and ragtag crew members went flying.

"Shit," Bulma cursed. Her elbow smacked against the wall and she rubbed the tender limb as the ship continued to shake. Chichi was at her side, recovering significantly quicker and dropping into a fighting stance.

Goku and Krillin also stood, their eyes narrowed. Bulma swallowed, attempting to quell her parched throat.

"We've been tagged," she whispered. No one replied. They drifted closer and closer to a cruiser about twice the size of Bulma's shuttle. It wasn't huge, but it effortlessly pulled their ship toward it.

When they were flush against the strange cruiser, Bulma saw the PTO inscription painted on its side. From the other side of the shuttle's only door, a voice boomed,

"Open the hatch."

Bulma glared in the direction of the voice. "And why should we?"

"Because this is a PTO sector and civilian use is prohibited. Not to mention your cruiser has no inscription anywhere to be found." There was a pause, and then the voice threatened, "Open this door or we'll blast through."

Rolling her eyes, Bulma opened the hatch. It hissed as it slid to one side, revealing three PTO soldiers in regulation uniform. Their scouters were lowered over a single eye, their expressions stoic.

"Identification."

"We don't have any," Bulma replied, voice haughty and brows drawn.

The soldier frowned. "That's going to be a problem."

She shrugged. "We're from a world new to space travel. This is our first flight."

"No identification, no excuses," one of the soldiers snapped. And then he took hold of Bulma's bare forearm and yanked her closer. She blinked up at him, eyes brimming with equal parts surprise and rage, but before she could snap he continued, "Transport these trespassers to the nearest PTO base for holding."

"Ah," one of the soldiers began. "The closest base is Lord Frieza's ship, sire."

"That's fine. Have them transported there." The man let go of Bulma's arm and she fell backwards. Her backside hit the ground and, even though she ought to have been frightened, she grinned up at him.

Once the soldiers were gone, their ship was towed in the opposite direction they'd been coming. The Earth crew gathered around the front window and watched as a large ship came into view. Goku and Gohan noticed it first, followed shortly by Chichi and Krillin. Bulma had the least heightened eyesight and watched it take shape last. She was, however, the only member of the crew who could identify the floating fortress with some degree of confidence.

"That's Frieza's ship!" she cheered. "Well, that solves the problem of how we were going to find it and how we manage to get inside."

"As prisoners…" Krillin deadpanned

Choosing to see the best in the situation, Bulma slammed her fist into her open palm and grinned. "Alright! Goku, you're going to get your fight…"

And the plan, surprisingly enough, went off with minimal hitch.

The instant their cruiser came to a halt in one of the big, open docking bays on Frieza's base, Bulma hit the bottom to open the hatch. Then, when two PTO guards came on board, Chichi and Goku took them each out with a surprise jab to the back of the neck.

They fell to the ground with echoing thuds, and Chichi frowned down at their unconscious bodies. The one she'd taken out was hunched with its head and knees on the floor, backside high in the air. Her nose wrinkled a little.

"What now?"

Bulma commanded, "Goku, you and Chichi remove their armor."

"What?!" Chichi shrieked. "No way."

"Fine," Bulma grumbled. And she yanked the chestplate over one of the unconscious PTO soldier's head. With a grimace, she slid his lycra bodysuit off and pulled it over her own clothes. She'd donned the very armor so many times before, but it was definitely different than wearing it in Vegeta's body. The lycra bunched around her ankles and wrists, and the armor was too large, rocking a bit around her shoulders with each movement. Goku followed suit, yanking the bulky chestplate over his head and tugging the gloves on either hand. Finally, Bulma showed him how to clip the scouter over one of his eyes.

Finally, she tethered Gohan, Chichi and Krillin's hands together like prisoners. Goku dragged the pair of naked, unconscious men into the hallway while Bulma encapsulated her ship, setting it in her capsule case and tucking it safely in the stolen armor.

"This way," Bulma commanded, and she led the way down the winding hallways she'd long since memorized. When they were in front of the engineering wing, she inhaled, "This is where my plan gets a little fuzzy…"

"Oh, and it's been rock solid since," Chichi muttered.

"Through here is the engineering wing," Bulma began. "There are computers here that keep log of the planets on the Planet Trade Organization's radar. I think I can sneak Gohan inside and we can try to alter the records. Do you think you can stand out here and not be suspicious, Goku?"

"Ah," he scratched the back of his head. "Sure?"

Bulma looked to Chichi. "There's a supply closet down the hall, second door on the left when the hallway starts to curve. If you can get Goku to march you guys there, Gohan and I will come get you out once the records been modified."

"Sounds good," Chichi replied, and so she directed her husband and Krillin in the opposite direction. When they were out of view, Bulma grinned at Gohan.

"Ready, little guy?"

He gave a timid nod. "I guess so."

"Alright. Let's do this."

She led him into the science wing and nodded toward the back room where rows and rows of little curved screens sat. Some were empty, others were being occupied by PTO staff. Bulma nodded at one of the engineers who shot them a strange look, but most moved around about their business. As if a female soldier toting a little boy around was nothing to blink at. Probably because PTO soldiers were above their station…

"We need to check something," Bulma said to one of the scientists she recognized as Dr. Halmer. As Vegeta, she'd once given him some time off to relax. This was how he'd pay her back. "Frieza said you could log us into the system, Dr. Halmer."

"Oh, ah," his eyes widened as the swapped back and forth between the pair. Bulma flashed her most charming smile and watched in satisfaction as a blush bloomed across his cheeks. Sure, getting shit done around here in Vegeta's body was simple enough (his power level and reputation made getting around pesky things like rules a breeze), but she wasn't above using her looks. "Sure, Miss."

"Thanks." She tossed in a wink for good measure and exhaled as he logged into one of the curved units. When he was out of range, she yanked off one of the ill-fitting gloves and ran her finger over the unit's menu. Pulling up the planetary record was simple enough. She and Gohan both read over the paltry information for their home world. It gave descriptors such as "lush", "fruitful", and "densely populated".

"There's a date to purge," whispered to Gohan, dread seeping into his already small voice. "But I don't know how to convert the units into a timetable that makes sense."

Bulma nodded. "Me neither, but it hasn't happened yet, so there's still time."

She played around for a few minutes, getting familiar with how the records were made and modified. There was even an option to delete the entire log, but Gohan put his little hand on her gloved one and said,

"No. We should alter the record, not delete it. If someone else finds Earth, they'll start the process over again. It's better if they think it's an inhabitable, resourceless wasteland."

Bulma nodded. "Okay. Altering it should be simple enough, I'm just not quite sure how to remove this tab here that gives it a purge date. We can alter the record all we want, but it doesn't mean anything if they've got a date scheduled to destroy it."

They started with the basics, altering the facts sheet of their planet, and after a few minutes of toying, Gohan figured out how to remove the section that gave Earth its purge date. Bulma cheered, then immediately regretted it as they drew the attention of half the engineers crowding around the bay. With an exhale, she whispered to Gohan, "I think that's our cue."

And so, they rose to leave and enter the hallway, heading toward the supply closet where she'd directed Chichi and the others. As they walked, boots several sizes too large thumping awkwardly against the metal flooring, Bulma let her eyes wander. It was strange and exciting, being there in her own body. It was like seeing things from a different perspective, even if it was as familiar as ever. She knew beyond the engineering wing was the medical bay, and just down where the hallway split the stupid training facilities where she'd wasted so much time.

And just a few meters further the kitchens with all the decadent desserts. Her stomach gave a small growl, and she held back a laugh. This place had everything, even-her eyes widened in shock-even Vegeta.

Before she could stop herself, she was running forward, a smile tugging at either side of her mouth,

"Hey! Vegeta!" she called. And the face she'd become so familiar with twisted into a snarl she'd never seen. She froze, her too-large boots skidding to a stop, and she fell forward. Though she caught herself with her palms on the floor, her capsule kit jostled loose and crash to the floor. A couple capsules rolled down the hallway.

One bounced in the prince's direction, coming to a stop at the toe of his left boot. He frowned down at the little thing as Bulma got to her feet.

"You…" her voice fell, "You don't know who I am."

Vegeta ignored her. He was so handsome. So much more so than she remembered. Maybe it was seeing it from a different perspective. She wanted to leap into his arms. To press herself against his chest. To… She blinked, watched as he leaned forward and picked up her number 9 capsule.

His glare swapped from the capsule to her and back again.

"Bulma," Gohan whispered from behind her leg. "We need to go."

"Okay," she replied. And then she shot Vegeta a wink. "Keep it, Prince Vegeta. A souvenir to remember me by."

She could feel his eyes on her as she walked by, pausing briefly when their shoulders were a hair's breadth away. So close she could feel his body heat, so close she could smell his familiar scent.

But she kept walking. Gohan opened the supply closet and Goku, Chichi and Krillin spilled out. They half-ran, half-walked to the launching bay and quickly found an empty slot. There was a good deal of hustling nearby, soldiers shouting and rushing about. Bulma caught someone shrieking about their lack of clothes, and she hid her smile against her shoulder.

Tossing the capsule into the empty bay, the group waited until the smoke cleared to pile into the Capsule cruiser. Once inside, Bulma started up the engine and set the coordinates for Earth. As they strapped in for takeoff, Gohan double checked their trajectory while Bulma watched as Frieza's ship slipped further and further from view, one thought on her mind:

He didn't know who she was.

And then realization came crashing down on her. In this time, Vegeta hadn't met her yet. She shook her head. The force of the take off and the realization that Vegeta wouldn't know who she was for a few years at least, if at all, coupled with the events of the last few hours caught up with her. Leaning forward, she emptied the contents of her stomach. Twice.

And though Chichi couldn't have had a clue what was going through her head, she placed a hand on one of Bulma's, and squeezed. It would've been a more comforting gesture if it weren't for the pilfered glove still on Bulma's hand.

The blue haired woman, however, appreciated it all the same.


	5. five

Crystalline water lapped the sandy shore of the island. In its center, a cheery little house sat flanked by palm trees. On the small expanse of grass an even cheerier group huddled around a grill.

Bulma doused some of the tender meat with sauce, and then shooed the men staring over her shoulder with a flick of her wrist.

“It’ll be ready in twenty minutes,” she growled. “And besides, Chichi hasn’t started on the sides yet. You boys need to relax.”

Yamcha and Goku heaved exaggerated sighs and sunk onto a bench.

From the other side of the picnic table, Oolong snorted, looking awfully haughty for a pig at a BBQ.

The door to Kame House smacked its frame, and Gohan teetered onto the lawn. He set the overflowing platter of freshly steamed buns on the table’s center, and his father’s stomach growled.

The boy smiled politely. “It smells good, Ms. Bulma!”

“Thanks!” She stopped basting and frowned at Krillin. “What do you think? Need another coat?”

“Nope.” He shook his head confidently. His bald head gleamed in the sun; his white ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron was smeared with sauce. “Looks perfect, Bulma.”

And just as Chichi brought out the remainder of the side dishes, and the group settled around the table, something streaked across the sky.

“Huh,” Bulma said. “A comet?”

“No. Not a comet,” Yamcha snapped. His jaw was locked and his eyes followed the trail leaving a long crescent the sky.

Bulma glanced around the table, now officially the only island occupant besides the turtle who could sense chi. Each of her friends wore identical expressions of panic. All but Goku, who grinned and jumped to his feet.

“Alright!” he cheered, and without another word, he grabbed a fistful of steamed buns and leapt into the sky, flying faster than Bulma could follow. 

Since the three years since he’d learned, he’d taught nearly everyone else to fly, too. And so Yamcha and Krillin were quick on his heels. Bulma rolled her eyes and grabbed hold of Gohan’s shirt before he could abandon her, too.

“Take me along, little guy?”

Gohan blushed. “S-Sure, Ms. Bulma.” 

His eyes darted to his mother who huffed and crossed her arms. “I’m not going anywhere.” And then she softened a fraction. “But be careful.”

At her elbow, Oolong shoveled another forkful of rice into his mouth. “Without Goku here, I actually have a chance to eat."

Lifting Bulma by her armpits, Gohan took off in same direction as their friends. Since he was a thoughtful and polite boy, he flew at a much slower pace. Even if Bulma was used to taking reckless speeds on her capsule copter, flying like this was different. The wind stung her face and tossed around her hair.

Just as she was wondering if she had some goggled stashed away in one of her capsules, her feet were back on solid ground. As she sucked in enough air to reprimand Yamcha, Krillin and Goku for leaving her behind, she froze.

The world stopped spinning so fast she almost fell over. 

“Vegeta.” The name tumbled out of her mouth before she could process much else. Before the rational part of her brain remembered, years ago, when she’d met him in a hallway of the PTO ship and he’d stared at her like she was a stranger.

But now, he met her gaze. His dark eyes unreadable, his features stiff. Perhaps it was the hope squeezing her heart, but it felt like he _knew_ her. Bulma swallowed. He had to know her.

“Kakarot,” he snapped, Goku’s Saiyan name instead of her own. Bulma rolled her eyes. _Boys_.

However, before Goku could reply, Piccolo landed to the far side of the field, making a three-pointed triangle. Clearly not aligning himself with the newcomers or the earthlings. 

Goku, however, didn’t seem to notice. “Hey, Piccolo! Great for you to join us.” 

And though the Namekian tried to look angry, his features softened a bit at the sight of young Gohan, still hovering close to Bulma’s knees as though she were the buffer between Earth and this new threat.

“I’ll just stay, in case things get bad,” Piccolo grumbled, and Bulma wanted to scoff at all the displays of aloof masculinity. It was really quite tiresome.

It was Raditz, however, who cleared his throat and the air. “Kakarot, you’re a Saiyan from Planet Vegeta.”

“Yep.” Goku nodded eagerly. “I know.”

“You… know?” Raditz stared at his brother in confusion, and Bulma noted that the burly man hadn’t lost his penchant for wearing nothing but briefs. 

Goku flashed another face-splitting grin. “Sure. Vegeta told me a long time ago.”

When both Nappa and Raditz shot Vegeta twin gazes of bewilderment, the shortest Saiyan simply huffed like he couldn’t be bothered with an explanation. 

“C’mon, Vegeta. Tell them. It’s been a long time, but surely my energy is familiar. Last time you were here, you taught me how to fly. I taught you to sense chi. You--”

“Impossible,” Nappa interrupted. “Vegeta’s never been to Earth.”

Bulma didn’t miss the way Vegeta flinched at that statement. It was just the slightest bit of movement and widening of eyes, but she knew.

And abandoning any pretense, Bulma left the security of the Earthling side and approached Vegeta with purposeful, fearless footsteps. When she was only a foot or so in front of him, she squinted.

He stared back at her, and removing her eyes from his familiar features, she looked behind his powerful shoulders to Raditz and Nappa. Then she heaved a sigh.

This was strange. This was…

“The records say this place is inhospitable and barren.” Nappa scoffed, kicking his toe into ground. Uprooting blades of green grass and dislodging some of the damp soil. “Looks pretty populated and fruitful to me.”

Bulma opened her mouth to reply, but Vegeta got to it first,

“Bulma.”

Her axis tilted a notch. Her eyes widened. And then, a smile tugging at her features, she replied in greeting, 

“Vegeta.”

The look in his eyes wasn’t what any sane person would classify a smile, but there was a degree of happiness there. At the very least, he wasn’t any _un_ happiness to be found. 

“You know one another?” Someone asked. Bulma didn’t look away from Vegeta and she wasn’t sure who had spoken. It could’ve been Nappa or Yamcha for all she knew.

It was Vegeta who replied, “We’ve never met.”

Yeah. She definitely hadn’t done his gruff voice justice all those years ago when she’d been playing his part.

“Well,” she began. “I saw you once, but you didn’t know who I was.”

“What was happening was more complex than I originally thought. When you approached me we hadn’t started swapping, uh,” he fumbled for a moment and settled with, “messages yet.”

Then he retrieved something from the confines of his chestplate and, extending his hand, dropped it into Bulma’s palm. She stared down at the little Number 9 capsule, her eyes widening.

“That day, you dropped this.”

“You kept it?” She stared at him. “But, you didn’t know me then.”

“No. I didn’t.” His lips flexed to a frown. “That was three galactic years ago.”

“Then,” she paused. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she smiled. “Why did you keep it?” 

He could’ve told her the truth; that a strange, pretty girl in ill-fitting PTO armor had winked at him and he’d been rendered dumb. That later, when he’d learned two PTO guards had been knocked unconscious, stripped, and left in the hanger, he’d known. And, for some reason, he didn’t tell anyone and he’d kept the damn thing. And years later, when he’d started swapping places with her, he’d pieced the whole thing together and it was something he couldn’t let go of. Instead he shrugged and said,

“Not sure.”

Bulma lifted the capsule between them. She’d long since forgotten anyone else was standing in the clearing with them. She’d waited so long to see Vegeta. She’d never thought it would be this stilted or awkward, but she’d also convinced herself that it probably wouldn’t happen at all. Stilted and awkward was a great improvement to that, at least.

Blue eyes darting from Vegeta to the capsule and back again, she asked, “Did you ever open it?”

“Open it?” he repeated, like the thought had never occurred to him.

With a grin, she tossed the capsule to the ground. Raditz and Nappa both jumped backwards. When the little plume of smoke cleared, only a modest sized refrigerator sat in its place. Bulma stepped forward and pulled open the door, revealing a tray of pink and white petit fours decorated with edible flowers, rows and rows of fat strawberry tarts, and entire shelf of her mother’s homemade chocolate candies.

Vegeta clicked his tongue. “Fucking desserts. I should’ve known.”

“Hey,” Bulma shot back, hand on her hip, giving him the glare that he knew had her board of directors fearing for their livelihood. “These sweets have stood the test of time and space, buddy. Show some respect.” 

“Tch. I’ll show no respect until you’ve proven you can do a single pushup or eat an ounce of protein.”

Bulma grinned. Vegeta in person was even more fun than he was on paper.

It was Goku who tore her out of her haze with the question, “What are you guys here for?” 

And Vegeta’s already stoic and unmoving form stiffened as Raditz answered his brother’s question.

“We found out Frieza was the one who destroyed our home world and decided to extract our revenge. Only…” He paused, his eyes large and earnest. It reminded Bulma of the time he sought help with unrequited love. Raditz didn’t often look vulnerable, but when he did, Bulma’s heart squeezed. “Our revenge didn’t quite go as planned so we fled the empire. When we were looking for a place to lay low and train for a bit, Vegeta read the description of planets outside the PTO’s watch and we thought about Earth. After we pulled up the description he said the information must've been fabricated by someone intelligent and reckless.” 

Bulma shrugged a single shoulder. “Guilty, I guess.”

“So, you’re going to train here, get stronger?” Goku grinned. “I’ll help.”

“I will, too,” Bulma added.

Vegeta stared at her, a little crease forming between his eyebrows.

“He’s a Saiyan, even if a pathetic one,” Nappa scoffed. The unarticulated compliment seemed to take great effort. “Why would you help?”

“Vegeta saved our planet once,” Bulma replied. “It’s the least we can do.”

Vegeta’s dark gaze never left hers, and she wanted to thank him. She wanted to do lots of things to him, if she were being honest with herself, and she really didn’t give a damn if this wasn’t the time or the place.

“How long ago was it for you? Coming here, taking my shuttle into space?”

“Two months,” he admitted. And she blinked. So recently… Quickly, she shook off the shock and got back to business.

“Two months ago, Vegeta saved Earth. So we Earthlings,” Bulma said, her glare cutting across the small splattering of men who looked ready to argue her speaking on their behalf, “would be _happy_ to help you Saiyans defeat Frieza in any way possible.”

And then, lowering her voice so only Vegeta could hear (despite being vaguely aware that some of friends were freaks with super-hearing), she winked and said, “Besides, I’d like to get to know you better.”

Vegeta looked like he’d just swallowed a mouthful of sand. It was so fun, making him mad that she couldn’t help but adding with a wink, “Besides, don’t you want to find out if I still sleep naked?”

And the blush that set those stoic cheeks aflame was even better than she’d imagined it.

 

…..

 

The End

 

…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you expressed interest in seeing this continue to a Defeat Frieza arc, but the original draft I’d typed up was a one shot and so even this version was really pushing it.
> 
> Never fear! I have two new (long) stories in the works, and I’m chipping away at each of them, trying to decide which to post. Plus there’s Coalesce, a story a started a million years ago and never finished. My goal is to Never Leave A Story Incomplete. So I should probably get on that… 
> 
> For ideas/questions/love/hate, whatever, you can always PM me or ask me on tumblr at aladylan. :)
> 
> Thanks for following this body swapping comedy of errors until the end. Now go watch Your Name (Kimi no na wa), the original inspiration behind the thing. It’s a beautiful, amazing movie and supposedly J.J. Abrams is going to be adapting the film into a live-action American movie, so you should definitely see it before that happens.
> 
> In the meantime, I love you! Thank you for reading. You are wonderful.
> 
> -lady lan


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